don't say your goodbyes
by xXNaruMayoiXx
Summary: She rode a horse with a leg on each side and went on the roller coaster in Santa Monica, laughing and shrieking. She traveled the world and became a moving picture actress, making the best out of life's surprises. She promised that she'd never let Jack go. And she never did. Not really. Jack/Rose
1. something i can't have

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Titanic.(:

* * *

don't say your goodbyes yet

-x-

_titanic._

_-x-_

_'something i can't have.'_

_-x-_

The _Carpathia _continued on its path slowly, the slow, rhythmic rocking some form of normality in a tumultuous start to the day.

Rose Dewitt Bukater pulled the thin shawl around her bare arms, closing her eyes and breathing in.

_One. Two._

She opened her eyes tentatively, hoping to see some familiar sight- the Grand Staircase of the _Titanic_ in all its glory, the polished decks and walkways, even the boiler rooms where the workers slaved. But all she got was the sight of the _Carpathia's _grimy decksand whatever _Titanic_ survivors the ship had managed to save.

The sky was a dull hazy grey, faint traces of violet and orange splashed across the sky. Rose could still count the number of stars left in the sky, refusing to give way to the morning light.

Rose shut her eyes forcibly, trying to clear her mind.

The colours were too bright, the sounds of the swooping gulls too loud and shrilly.

The events of the past few hours seemed like a nightmare- surely, she'd wake up back in her suite, enveloped in her sheets with Jack waiting for her at the third class decks?

But Rose knew this was real. She knew that the _Titanic _had sunk. She knew that everyone she had come to love over the past few days-Trudy, Fabrizio, Helga, Thomas Andrews, among many others-were gone.

_Jack._

Jack was gone.

The tips of his blond hair were encrusted with ice, his lips tinged a numbing blue.

And God, he was cold. He was so cold.

"J..Jack..." Rose choked out, her lips numb from the cold of the Atlantic gales. "J..Jack... where are you?"

"_I-I'll...I'll never l-let go..." _she whispered, watching as the tail of a shooting star faded into the daybreak.

A shooting star.

_"You know, my pops used to tell me that every time you saw one, it was a soul going to heaven."_

_ "I like that..."_

"Are you in heaven now, Jack?" Rose breathed, her fists clenched. "Are you? Tell me if you are."

A warm breeze tickled her shoulders in an almost comforting gesture. It smelled of brandy, cigarette smoke, and wild mint. Almost like Jack.

God, she had to be mad.

_A shooting star. What to wish for?_

And she remembered Jack. His smile, his laugh that sounded like the most beautiful song in the world, his hair that shone a beautiful brassy gold in the sunlight.

She remembered his hands on hers, his strong arms around her shoulders in a tight hug, the forceful kiss on the forehead that reassured both of them that everything would end up alright. She remembered his eyes, so beautiful, like a work of art, just like the person they belonged to. They weren't blue- they were a striking turquoise, with flecks of green, bronze, and hazel. She remembered just how _safe _he made her feel, how he made her feel like for once, everything was going to be okay.

And the tears came, quietly at first, before her body shook as she sobbed. Rose didn't care about the stares- all she wanted was for Jack to be back, to be next to her, to tell her that everything was going to be alright. Because for those few blissful days, everything was truly perfect, and she had everything she could have ever wanted. But God had ripped all that away from her, and now she was stuck in the world of yesterdays and what-ifs.

So she cried. She cried for everything she lost, everything she once had, and everything she had wished for. She cried for Jack, for Trudy, for Fabrizio and Helga, for Thomas Andrews, and the rides on the roller coasters, the drunken nights at cheap pubs and gallops on the beach that would never be.

And when she looked up, the shooting star was gone, faded into the heavens and whatever vast unknown was out there.

_What do I wish for?_

_ ...something I can't have._

-x-

"Rose, dear, J.J. and I are about to chat over a cup of tea, would you care to join us?" Margaret Brown questioned kindly, knocking on the young woman's door.

Molly Brown had been kind enough to allow Rose to stay over at her flat in New York. Though Rose had only intended to stay for a few days, she had ended up prolonging her stay by months. Though Rose was forever indebted to the woman for allowing her to stay at her home, she couldn't find the life in her to leave the room and find a place for her own.

After all, what was the use?

"No, thank you, Madame Brown." Rose responded politely, brushing a red curl out of her face. "I think I'd do well to take a walk in Central Park. It's a lovely day outside."

The socialite was somewhat taken aback, a smile broad on her face.

"Well, you'd best be hurrying, I have to lock up in ten minutes!"

Rose nodded, smiling, before retreating back into her room and staring listlessly at her mishmash of clothing. Most of her belongings had perished alongside the Titanic, and what she had now had either been bought from the little earnings she had or gifted to her.

She slipped on a simple, lemon yellow dress that hit mid-calf and with lovely lace trim and embroidery detailing. Simple, off white fabric espadrilles adorned her feet.

Despite Molly Brown having separated from her husband years ago, they remained good friends. James Joseph Brown was a lovely man, and had come to Manhattan to reassure himself that Molly was still alive. Sometimes, Rose mused almost bitterly to herself, she could see Margaret Brown's eyes light up again, in a way hers never did.

Not since Jack had died, anyway.

So Rose had hidden from reality, gasping for breath in the sea of memories that washed over her every single moment of her life. She knew Jack would have been disappointed in her behaviour, upset she hadn't been living life like a normal young woman should have been.

But how could she pretend that everything was fine, when in reality, everything that had made her happy had been torn away from her? Jack was gone, Trudy was gone, and even her mother believed her to be dead. Nothing was normal, and she couldn't understand how Margaret Brown managed to put a smile on her face every day. All Rose wanted to do was curl up and cry, but Molly had never let her. Rose was forever indebted to the woman, a fact that she would never forget, even into the late stages of her life.

Everything reminded her of that damned ship. The cool, spring breeze brought back nightmares of frigid Atlantic gales. May drizzle reminded her of the freezing ocean waters that rushed through the corridors and snapped the ship in half. Her favourite corset brought back painful memories of Trudy, who'd offered a sense of security her mother never had.

And Jack. Every little thing reminded her of him, from the water in the lakes to stray pieces of sketch paper bunched up balls on the street. When the wind whistled, it carried along scents of smoke and mint, the whispers of laughter from aboard ships of dreams. It almost felt like Jack Dawson was still alive, and that any minute, he'd stroll from around the corner, hands in his pockets and that stupid smug smirk on his face. But he never came.

Rose leaned against the trunk of the tree, tears in her eyes again.

Sometimes, she wished she had gone down with Jack.

Because life was just so damn hard now.

She watched as a child ran across the hill, giggling, her dark brown curls bouncing up and down and tickling her bare shoulders.

A sudden wave of nostalgia washed over her as Rose noted her resemblance to Cora.

Cora, the young girl she had met aboard the Titanic. Had she lived?

A knot of dread formed in her stomach as she recalled the doors that had locked the steerage passengers to their deck. Had Cora drowned? She bit her lip, remembering how Jack had taken such a liking to the young girl. He was a natural father, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by Rose.

_Jack would have been an amazing father, _Rose thought wistfully to herself as she let a small blush creep up on her cheeks. _God. He really would have._

The girl stopped, glancing at Rose briefly. Her eyes were a light brown, her skin a silky caramel. A smile tugged her lips up as she waved to the redheaded young woman, before another child, a blond boy, flicked her lightly on the arm and burst away. The girl giggled, before running after him, hands groping the air as she ran across the grass.

A pang of wanting gripped Rose.

A balled up newspaper fluttered down the sidewalk, the headlines bold and obnoxiously loud.

"_TITANIC SINKING EXACTLY TWO MONTHS AGO. HEAR THE SURVIVOR STORIES." _

Rose trembled, balling up the newspaper once more and throwing it across the field, eyes glassy with tears. She stood up, dusting herself off, before breaking away, sobbing, running back to the only home she had now.

-x-

"_Why'd you do that Rose, why'd you do that? You're so __**stupid,**__ Rose, why'd you do that, huh?"_

_Fear. Adrenaline. Defiance._

_ "You jump, I jump, right?"_

_ Murky __**black**__ waters, enticing and **hungry.**_

_ (come out t y...)_

_ Lights __**flickering. **_

o n e . t w o .

**and everything's black. **

_why does morning seem s o . f a r . a w a y?_

**_ "don't ever let go."_**

Rose awoke with a start, her fingers instinctively touching her cheeks, and the invisible tear tracks that ran down her porcelain skin.

_"Jack.." _she sobbed, grabbing a fistful of her sheets and wiping her tears.

"Jack... how can I let go? How can I?" she whispered, her curls tangled and her skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat. "The night. The memories. They haunt me, Jack. How can... how can I let go?"

Her voice wavered in the end, sobs wracking her thin frame.

The demons of the sea haunted her each night, peppering her fitful sleep with nightmares of black waters and flickering ship lights.

They held her precariously close to the edge of insanity, the place of no return. She sobbed and pleaded and fought with all her might, but the hold of the demons never relented.

As usual, no answer awaited her.

She was ashamed to admit it, but she almost forgot how he felt, how he sounded. She had only faint memories of strong arms and baby soft skin tanned from days in the sun. She had only faint memories of thick leather jackets over her bare shoulders and the hesitation in his touch as his hands ran over her body lustfully, leaving behind sweat stained cushions and bruises on her neck that only makeup could cover up. She could only vaguely remember his voice, like music to her ears, and his laugh, a deep baritone that made the butterflies in her stomach flutter again after a few second's rest.

She waited for something.

A faint smell of mint, an echo of a laugh, his voice that told her everything was going to be okay. She waited for his arms, protective, shielding her from the evils of the world.

She almost felt let down for a moment, annoyance twinging as she wondered why he hadn't arrived yet when Rose Dawson was so fragile and oh so close to the tipping point.

But then she remembered that he wasn't coming back, that no, he was slumbering with the angels this night, and the next, and all the nights that would follow until she too was welcomed by God into whatever afterlife awaited her. Hot tears stung in her eyes.

Why didn't they teach this in finishing school?

Folding napkins, walking with high heels, and learning to address others was nothing.

What about heartache, grief, the feeling of wanting to go to sleep and never waking up?

Rose lamented over how unfair life was, because that had never been in any of Trudy's bedtime stories when she was little.

It had always been about princesses and princes and happy endings that left a fuzzy feeling in your heart.

But life wasn't always a fairytale with kisses and happily ever afters.

If it was, then her prince would have come back to her by now.

* * *

**A/N: **YAY NEW FIC.

HAHA, this is just trouble waiting to happen. (x

I hate Fanfiction formatting now. D: Ew ew ew.

I have about three chapters of this written out and I'm playing with how I want chapter four to end.

And no, Jack isn't alive. I think the reason the movie _is _a classic is because it makes us relate to the tragedy that was the _Titanic. _Numbers don't really seem significant on their own- but when it comes to someone that movie-goers _have _come to grown fond of over the course of three hours, it makes the sinking of _Titanic _hit that much closer. I have no idea if that whole thing made sense at all.

I don't think the movie would have been as good if Jack didn't die. It would have been unrealistic, because the truth is, only about 1 out of 3 people were saved. The _Titanic _is a tragedy, and it wouldn't have felt like it if Jack did live, because frankly it's not realistic and I don't know.

It's fun to play with the idea of Jack living, but I think there aren't enough fics documenting Rose and her feelings after losing Jack. I don't know.

You can ignore all that mindless rambling.

This fic will be updated, more than likely, once every two weeks because I'm rubbish at updating on time and I have like, six ongoing fics right now. Six or eight. ._.

Click the big blue button! Reviews are LOVE.(:


	2. that fire's gonna burn out

I don't own Titanic.

* * *

don't say your goodbyes yet

_titanic._

'_that fire's gonna burn out'_

_ 'It's not up to you to save me, Jack."_

_ "You're right. Only you can do that."_

_ and he gave a wistful smile, his sea foam blue eyes misty. _

_ in the weak sunlight, rose could see the silvery, ghostly tear tracks on his cheeks, noting with a pang in her heart how his eyes seemed duller, and much more melancholy. _

_ his smile, once radiant and excited for the days ahead, was forced and anguished, and rose can't stand seeing him so upset._

_ the urgency in his eyes becomes more frantic. he makes a move towards her, but decides against it, his lips opening and closing but emitting no noise. and he slumps, defeated, his eyes wild and pleading._

_ "... that fire's gonna burn out, Rose."_

_ his voice is muted, distorted, and so defeated and broken that rose cannot believe what she is hearing. jack stood before her, speaking no further words, as he glances at his feet._

_ the wind carries to them the sounds of april 15th, the screams and whimpers and the deafening, crushing silence. because it was too quiet, every wave too loud, and rose couldn't count the number of stars in the sky or the bodies that floated around her, cold and disturbingly motionless._

_ and jack's hair takes on a frosted look, the tips of his dirty blond bangs encrusted with ice._

_ his lips are blue, just like they were three months ago, his lips barely opening but needing no words, because his eyes do the begging for him. rose wants to cry, to scream, to kick out, but not wanting to push jack away because wasn't this what she had wanted, to see him again?_

_ so she's stuck in limbo, screaming but silent and staring at a man who she realizes hasn't breathed since she came her. she puts a hand to his chest wordlessly, and she screams when she hears no heartbeat._

_ and jack only smiles sadly, his expression downcast, as he stands up and bids a farewell with a slow raise of his hand, and suddenly he's gone and rose feels like screaming all over again._

-x-

Rose never imagined she'd find herself in a world of dinner parties and corsets again, but she had, and she'd never wanted to get away more than she had now.

Molly Brown was talking about a tea import, a subject Rose felt horribly disinterested in. Molly had invited the Calvert family over for dinner, urging Rose to give them a chance, because in her words, they were a 'lovely, respectable family'.

Brent Calvert was the head of a restaurant chain in Kentucky, and his son Darcy managed a company that manufactured polyester fabrics. The youngest Calvert, at 24, was Charles Calvert, who was finishing up university and interning at a law firm.

Charles kept glancing over at Rose, which made Rose feel terribly uncomfortable. She'd tried to stomach the steak on her plate, but each bite of food left her tongue feeling dry and her her stomach churning. She'd excused herself, making a note to apologize to Molly later, before retreating to her room.

Her heart felt heavy, her mind felt blank, and despite the sun and warmth, each day felt cold and bare, like the harshest of winter storms. Each time she closed her eyes, she could feel his gaze, his eyes peering into her soul.

And she wondered what it'd be like, to just go to sleep and never wake up again. She somehow knew, that when she did, she'd see him again, and that made the idea so much more tempting.

Because who was she anymore, anyway?

A broken shell of a girl who'd loved and lost, the broken pieces of a girl who might once have been beautiful.

She couldn't do it anymore.

She couldn't live, pretending like everything was okay, because _nothing was goddamn okay._

The voices called for her, beckoning her to join them.

And this time, there was nobody to pull her back.

-x-

_don't do it._

_ don'tdoit._

_ DON'TDOIT._

Everything was too fast, too hot, too much like an illusion to be real. The colours were too bright, the birds too loud, like nails scraping against chalkboard.

"Don't do it!"

And Charles Calvert was there, pulling her back, and Rose felt so angry and hateful and _why did he have to stop her?_

But maybe it wasn't Charles, because it sounded like Jack, too.

Was that Jack, in front of her?

And Charles, or Jack, or someone, was screaming at her, and she didn't even realize she was crying until CharlesJack started wiping the tears that ran down her face.

His touch was so familiar, so comforting. But those hazel eyes were Charles', not Jack's, and he wasn't supposed to be standing on the top of a building, comforting her, but damn it, _she wasn't supposed to be comforted __**by **__him!_

Rose broke free, screaming, begging for God to _just let her die._

-x-

"_Why'd you do that, huh? You're so stupid, Rose, why'd you have to do that?"_

_ And Jack's crying, real tears, his fists clenched and his eyes betraying his disappointment._

_ "Rose, you're no picnic, alright? You're a spoiled little brat, even, but under all that..."_

_ And Rose wants to scream, because his words cut her like knives, because he's so close to her and __**so goddamn far. **_

_"Come on, I'll pull you back over."_

_ "You weren't there, Jack." Rose whispers, and Jack's face is tight, and deep in thought._

_ "But you promised." he responded back lightly. _

_ And the blue skies are black, dark, and a sudden chill runs over her._

_ "Winning that ticket, Rose, was the best thing that ever happened to me... it brought me to you. And I'm thankful for that, Rose. I'm thankful. You must do me this honor. Promise me you'll survive. That you won't give up, no matter what happens, no matter how hopeless. Promise me now, Rose, and never let go of that promise." Jack's voice is chattering, and Rose's heart skips when she sees how blue his lips are._

_ God, why are they so blue?_

_ But everything's okay again, (why did it change?) and the skies are blue and Jack's skin a peachy pink._

_ "I promise." Rose whispers, almost inaudibly. She's convinced that if she's quiet enough, she can hear the sound of the crashing Atlantic waves again, the pleas and sobs of the men and women in the waters. They never come, though, and all she gets is a quiet spring breeze._

_ And Jack smiles, a ghost of a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes._

_ Jack steps forward, reaching his hand out but deciding against it._

_ His next words hit Rose like a punch in the gut._

_ "Come on, you don't want to do this."_

_-_x-

Sometimes, Rose wondered what she did to deserve the pain she went through every day. The heartache, the grief, the depression that hung over her like a thick wool cloak.

But she remembered Jack and Trudy and Thomas Andrews, all good men who had horrific fates, and knew that life wasn't fair. None of the men, women, and children aboard the _Titanic _deserved to die. Not one.

And Rose lived in a limbo now, breathing, but not living. Her eyes were hollow, never twinkling with the mischievous laughter like it had before. The ghost of her last laughs were etched on her porcelain skin, the invisible tear tracks on her face visible in the weak sunlight. She knew Jack would have been disappointed in her, but she didn't have a reason to live. Not really.

Not until she'd first heard the doctor's words.

But Rose did have a reason to live, she'd just never known. She had Jack, in a way, not really him but a part of him that'd live on, even as his soul rested with the others at the bottom of the Atlantic. She had a little bit of her and Jack growing in her, and Rose felt the corners of the thick cloak lifting at the corners, some of the weight lifting off her shoulders.

She didn't have to fake her smiles anymore.

With each passing day, the sun grew brighter and the skies turned bluer, and one day she even felt compelled to sing along with the birds, something she'd never done before. Her shoulders were light, like air, and finally, Rose could stand up straight without worrying about falling.

Molly had been disapproving, but Rose had a sneaking suspicion that Molly was grateful for the child, if only because Rose seemed so much happier now. But Molly had gone to Philadelphia for three months on a trip to visit family, apologizing profusely to Rose and leaving her a sum of money and her New York home to sustain herself with.

In the last three months of her pregnancy, she'd taken to strolling the park at night, laying on the grass and staring up at the stars, wondering if Jack could see her and wondering if he'd be proud of her for picking up the pieces of her and putting herself back together again.

Jack still visited in her dreams, sometimes, but he never spoke, instead choosing to watch her from a distance, a sad, longing smile on his face. He sometimes drew, sitting on a rock, but Rose didn't complain too much of his distance, because she was just happy to see him, to see his blue eyes on her. One time, Rose recalled vividly, she was sitting near the base of a tree trunk, heavily pregnant, when Jack had walked up to her silently and handed her a drawing. It was a small collage, made from memories and recollections, with sketches of her sitting, standing up, singing, smiling, they were all there. But the one that made Rose's hand shake was the one of her and Jack, flying on the Titanic, their eyes locked on each others.

On the corner of the page was Jack's signature- JD. But there was no date, because she doubted Jack even knew the date anymore, but Rose still hugged the paper close to her and looked at dream Jack, tears in her eyes, with so many words left unsaid that she wished she _could _say, but nothing came out. She let out a strangled sob, and Jack frowned, his eyes clouded. He stepped forward tentatively, his hand reaching out, and Rose closed her eyes, expecting to feel his touch on her skin, the one she'd grown used to over the course of two days.

But it never came, because she woke up again, sweating.

The house was too silent.

And Rose listened to the sounds of the birds singing, the wind whistling, willing herself into sleep, if only for that chance of seeing Jack so close again.

-x-

_shewasamother._

_ She was a mother._

Rose couldn't wrap her mind around this simple thought as she held her, her baby face pink and flushed, eyes closed.

But Rose Dawson really was a mother, and she was holding her daughter (_daughter, can you believe that?) _in her arms. And her little baby, the one she'd promised to love for the rest of her life, gave a little yawn as her fingers curled around Rose's index finger.

"Do you have a name, miss?" the midwife asked, almost reproachfully, because she was all too aware of Rose's youthful appearance and of the fact Rose wore no wedding ring.

And she felt a knot in her throat tighten, because she knew this little baby's name from the moment she found out she was expecting a baby girl.

"Josephine." she whispered, glancing at the child in her arms. "Josephine Dawson."

And Rose smiled to herself, because she'd do anything in her power to keep Josie (because Josephine was just begging to have a cute nickname) safe, and Rose would watch her take flight and soar, just like a mother was supposed to.

She wondered what Jack would have liked as a name, imagining the young artist furrowing his brows as the sunlight glinted into his eyes, eyes that were a colour Rose didn't quite know the name of.

Little Josephine blinked open her eyes, cooing all the while, eyes that weren't quite blue but weren't green either, eyes that were a beautiful shade of teal.

* * *

**A/N: **Ahh, if you follow my drabble series, closure, you'll be able to hear my pathetic excuses. I'M SO SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING. :S I've just been exhausted with school and stressed out with personal relationships and stuff and it leaves little to fuel my inspirational juices.

I really still quite love this fic though, and I've just listened to Irish Party in Third Class at least 10 times on a loop and it does great things for the mind. c:

I have another chapter written out, but I'm stuck on the fourth chapter.

DO YOU GUYS WANT _TRAGIC, _OR _WHY IS THIS SO UNFAIR **WHAT DID SHE DO TO DESERVE THAT**__TRAGIC. _

let me know. c:


End file.
